The River of Lethe
by Lady of Pride
Summary: Halfway across the world, Chuck finds himself at the mercy of a new enemy...
1. Chapter 1

Having been under the care of the CIA and NSA for the last couple of months, Chuck honestly thought he would've gotten used to the idea of seeing dead bodies by now. People had been shot and beaten before his very eyes. Being dragged to a morgue in the wee hours of the morning by Casey shouldn't have surprised him as much as it did now...

"You woke me up at 3am to see if I would flash on a dead guy?"

Casey grunted something that sounded a lot like 'wimp' but Sarah afforded him a sympathetic half-smile. "Another CIA agent shot him down last night after he robbed a disk from Echno-Tech Industries. We want to know who he was working for and what he was planning to do with that information."

"He was planning a coup in Venezuela."

Both Sarah and Casey gave him a curious look, evidently surprised by the notion.

"…I was _joking_," Chuck mumbled. "Since when have I ever had a random flash without some sort of stimuli?"

"Ditch the sarcasm, Bartowski." Casey snapped before he returned his attention to the body. The corpse was still out on the operation table after just recently having the bullets removed from its chest. Thankfully, it was still covered by some sort of tarp cloth that hid the gruesome sight from Chuck's eyes. "Do you think Walker and I get a kick out of staring at dead guys?"

"No, Casey…but you do seem to get a kick out of _making_ them dead."

Casey glared in retaliation, but instead of barking at the witty comment, he grabbed the edge of the tarp and threw it back over the dead man's midsection. His face now revealed, Chuck flashed instantly on every ounce of information the NSA and CIA had on the man.

"…His name is Jamie Colt and he's a free-lancer," Chuck said after he returned from his trance. "I think he was hired by another company to spy on Echno-Tech…"

Sarah nodded. "Thank you, Chuck."

"Wait!" Chuck exclaimed as Casey began to draw the tarp back over the man's face. "That's not all."

Casey shot another glare at him, but kept his voice level as he asked, "What now?"

"Drug trafficking," he explained, sounding meek. "He works for a Mexican drug dealer called Acilino Coronado. What if he has…you know…?"

"Drug bags?" Casey glanced down the table at the man's stomach. "Perhaps…"

Chuck suddenly had a mental image of Casey in a butcher shop, a maniacal gleam in his eyes as he lifted his weapon of choice—

"Do you want to go wait in the car?" Sarah asked as she tossed Chuck her keys. Evidently, his face betrayed his thoughts.

"…Yeah. I can do that."

Casey flashed him a grin. "What's wrong, Bartowski? Can't stand a little blood?"

"Blood is fine. But dead bodies—"

"Bartowski."

"…What?"

Casey gestured to the door.

"…Right…Wait in the car."

Chuck was actually a bit tired of getting the 'wait-in-the-car' command, but he couldn't really complain in this situation. The last thing he wanted to watch before returning to sleep this morning was Casey as he dissected a fresh corpse. Chuck had enough disturbing mental images to deal with already.

He gave Sarah a mock salute before heading through the double-doors into the hallway. There were only two people working the nightshift, one of which was a janitor. Dr. Janelle Morris was the only mortician around and she was currently busy in another room, prepping a body for examination. She hadn't asked any questions when Sarah and Casey barged in earlier, offering to lend a hand if they needed any help before returning to her own work.

Dr. Morris was a smart woman when it came to turning a blind eye on government operations.

Chuck nodded politely at the woman as he passed her in the hall, noticing that there was a distraught man standing beside her. The two of them were talking quietly (Dr. Morris asking questions about a deceased man's next-of-kin) but when Chuck glanced their way the distressed man's attention shifted instantly from the conversation to him. He stared at Chuck wildly, his face overridden with grief, before he paled and excused himself from Dr. Morris.

"I really wasn't expecting two surprise visits in one night." The mortician sighed as she watched the man's retreating back. "I can handle the dead; it's the living I have trouble with."

Chuck didn't say a word. He knew what it felt like to lose someone that was close to him; he could sympathize with the man. The fellow was acting perfectly normal given the situation...

"Is there anything you and the others need?"

Chuck shrugged. "They might need something; I don't know. I'm leaving."

"Goodnight, then," she said with a witty smile. "I hope I don't see you here again anytime soon."

"I certainly hope not…"

But at the rate he was going, Chuck didn't know how long he'd last in the spy business. He might've been improving on his missions but the bad guys were getting harder to beat and Fulcrum was drawing closer to discovering Chuck as the Human Intersect. His life was gradually spinning out of control.

"I mean it," Dr. Morris replied, looking a bit more serious. "You don't act like one of _them_. They've almost got no emotion in their eyes."

Chuck liked to think that Sarah had normal feelings like everybody else—and he was pretty sure that she _did_ feel like a normal person when neither of their lives was in danger. Casey…well, Chuck wasn't at the liberty to say whether Casey was emotionally competent or not. He was pretty much convinced Casey wasn't entirely human...

"Watch your back, kid, or you'll find a knife it one of these days."

Dr. Morris left Chuck standing in the hallway, alone, with only her final words of wisdom to keep him company. They sounded incredibly Casey-ish and that freaked him out.

Unable to suppress a shiver, Chuck shoved his hands in his jacket pockets and headed for the door. Maybe tomorrow he'd call in sick for work…

Yeah right. Casey would probably kill him—and if not Casey, then Big Mike would certainly step up to bat.

Chuck sighed and wandered outside, trying to remember where Sarah parked. Casey had given him a ride to the morgue, half-kidnapping him in the dead of night instead of calling him first like a normal human being. Chuck pressed the 'unlock' button on the electronic car key and listened for the beep before shoving it into his jacket pocket. Sarah parked a good distance down the road instead of in the morgue lot, no doubt a habit of hers. Chuck figured it was all a part of some spy-protocol.

"—Excuse me!"

Chuck stopped half-way down the morgue steps and spun around on his heel. Dr. Morris stood behind him in the doorway, looking a tad bit worried.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I thought you were the other man. Do you see him anywhere?"

Chuck took a quick glance over the near-empty parking lot before facing her again. "Uh…no. Not really."

"Drats…" She held up a pair of gloves. "He left these in my office. If you see him in the parking lot, mention it to him, will you?"

"Sure thing."

"Thanks." She grinned again. "Be careful. It's fairly late to be wandering around."

Chuck just nodded and offered her a small smile of his own. Then he turned away from the parking lot and headed down the sidewalk to the road. Sarah's car was parked nearly half a block away under the shade of an oak tree. For a moment he imagined her sitting in the driver's seat, eyes barely visible in the dark as she solemnly loaded her gun. Her target would be drawing closer, just passing by, utterly oblivious to the danger lurking in the shadows…

Chuck shivered again. Morgues really did give him the jitters—he couldn't get rid of these morbid thoughts.

'_Just sit in the car and try to sleep,'_ he thought to himself. Sarah probably wouldn't care if he passed out in the passenger's seat. She was a hell of a lot nicer than Casey.

He reached for the car door handle and slipped inside the sleek vehicle, careful not to slam the door as he closed it behind him. It was alarmingly chilly outside and Chuck could almost see his breath inside the car. Maybe the bad weather was an omen…

Banishing the thought from his mind, Chuck reached for the keys and put them in the driver's cup tray so Sarah could find them later when she returned. Then he put on his seatbelt, leaned back and closed his eyes.

He felt the hand over his mouth before his brain could register the shuffle of clothing behind him. His assailant's other arm wrapped around his throat and pinned him back against the headrest of the chair, at the same time cutting off his airway. Chuck began to thrash immediately, both hands snapping up to pry the arm off his throat as he kicked out with his legs. His left knee throbbed painfully as it collided with the glove compartment but he continued to fight against his unknown attacker, hoping against all hope that Sarah was on her way. He needed her—hell, he would be happy to get even Casey at the moment! Anyone would do.

Chuck's head felt lighter as the world around him began to fade into darkness. _"Careful,"_ someone said behind him and his assailant tilted his arm at a slightly different angle.

He vaguely registered the sound of the driver-side door closing as someone else climbed inside, then the muffled jingle of keys as they reached into the cup tray. He could barely see now and the white noise around him was muffled by the pounding of his heart in his ears. His arms and legs felt numb; his lungs felt as though they were about to explode.

'_I'm dying…'_ Chuck thought as the energy slowly faded from his limbs. He couldn't fight anymore. _'I'm about to die and no one will ever know the truth about me.'_

…Then the arm began to slacken. The sound of his heartbeat faded into the distance and his vision, though blurry, stopped spinning as the man sitting in the driver's seat leaned closer. He couldn't see his face, but that was hardly a surprise.

"…_Again."_

The vice like grip around his throat returned and he was dragged under the waves of asphyxiation once more before his vision faded entirely and there was nothing left to listen to.

Chuck thrashed again, weaker than last time, until his mind felt separate from his body. It was over now. He was truly dead.

Finally losing his grip on the world, Chuck surrendered to the darkness…

A/N: "Echno-Tech Industries" doesn't exist…I think. I apologize if it is, in fact, an actual corporation.

"Drug bags" – I'm a CSI fan (and I'm sorry that I can't remember what episode this idea came from). Sometimes people will swallow small pouches of heroin or cocaine (etc) and carry them across the border in their stomach.


	2. Chapter 2

He was gone.

Honestly; truly; he was gone.

Sarah nearly had a heart attack.

Casey frowned from where he stood on the sidewalk, hand twitching as he prepared to grab his gun. Just earlier they had removed at least twenty small drug bags from Jamie Colt's stomach and now, after having tried to call Chuck at least twenty times, Sarah came to terrible conclusion that someone finally kidnapped Charles Irving Bartowski. Right out from under her nose.

Sarah had never felt this defenseless in her entire life.

She failed everyone.

She failed Chuck.

Casey, sighing in a way that suggested disappointment (both in her and in himself), reached into his pocket and pulled out his cellphone. Striding toward his car, Sarah in tow, he dialed their superiors and waited for someone to connect them.

She flinched at his choice of words:

"We have a problem"

-2-Chuck-2-

His limbs felt heavy; his head was spinning.

It reminded him of vertigo.

Instead of trying to move, Chuck opened his eyes and blinked slowly until his vision returned to focus. The world was blurry at first, and a bit slanted, but the tipsy-turvy sensation of at all faded eventually and the bright light above him stopped burning his eyes. He was lying down (that was for certain) and he couldn't move.

His arms and legs were bound.

Chuck leaned his head back slightly and arched his upper back to alleviate some of the pain along his spin. He was still sore from struggling; he pulled a muscle in his neck, either from thrashing about or having his assailant try to crush his windpipe. Either way, the experience was unpleasant—and he had no desire to repeat it in the future.

Where were Sarah and Casey?

"_He's awake."_ Someone said to his right. The metal table they put him on was cold; it was sucking all the warmth from his body.

Where the heck was his jacket?

A shadow covered his face as someone on his left reached over his eyes. He tried to turn away but his neck hurt too much, so he shivered instead. They touched his brow gently.

"_He's feverish."_

Maybe that's why he was cold.

"_Get something cool. Take off his shirt."_

"…Where am I…?" He rasped, throat sore from nearly being crushed. Whoever had been strangling him sure as hell knew what they were doing.

"_The airport."_

The airport.

No…No, he couldn't leave the country. Sarah would never find him!

He struggled, but cold hard hands held him down. A needle pricked his left arm as someone began to unbutton the front of his shirt.

"_Calm down."_

Who were these people? Weren't they going to torture him? Didn't they want information about the Intersect?

"_What is your name?"_

Faintly, he remembered not to tell.

"…Carmichael."

The man on his right moved. He was just a vague silhouette in Chuck's eyes, but somehow that was far more menacing than staring at an actual man. _"His wallet says 'Bartowski'."_

"_Burn it."_

"No—"

"—_That's not your name anymore."_ The speaker continued with a hint of finality in his voice. _"All that '__**was**__' is no more."_

Something cool touched his face; something else touched his chest. Both were cold. After a moment, he realized they were wet clothes.

Chuck didn't understand why they were doing this to him—why they weren't cutting him open or beating him or threatening his life. That's what was supposed to happen, wasn't it?

"…Why?" He asked in a hoarse voice.

For once, the man didn't have an answer for him. His voice sounded familiar—

—'_Again'_—

It was the man that climbed into the front of the car, the one that leaned forward to check if he was still conscious. He was the ring leader; that was all Chuck could tell.

"_Have you ever lost a loved one?" _The man asked finally. His voice had been calm and quiet up until then; now it was even lower. Solemn.

Chuck's throated tightened at the thought of his mother. It hurt already, but the memory of her last day only seemed to make matters worse.

He nodded as best he could.

"_Then you understand."_ The man sighed. _"Someday, you'll forgive me."_

'_For what?!' _Chuck thought wildly._ 'You never told me __**why**_

He wondered, vaguely, if his efforts would be wasted if he lashed out again. He doubted it would do him much good. He was outnumbered and drugged.

Whatever it was they injected his arm with, it was starting to take effect. Chuck's world tilted to the side again and his head began to swim as the light above him blurred. The darkness was dragging him under again.

There was no time to panic; to scream.

He surrendered to the abyss.


	3. Chapter 3

Chuck Bartowski had been missing two weeks before Sarah entertained the notion that he might actually be dead.

Morgan was distraught, Ellie was beside herself with grief and Sarah…well, Sarah couldn't allow herself to cry. She promised herself she would only cry when they found his body—

—'_if'_ they found his body…_'if'_…

"_It's not Fulcrum."_

Snapping her head up, Sarah stared at the image of Bryce on Casey's screen in sheer disbelief. They had people working 24/7 across the globe looking for the young Bartowski, waiting apprehensively for Fulcrum's first blow. Bryce had been out of contact for the last two weeks and she thought for certain—

"Not Fulcrum…" Casey thought aloud. "And you can confirm that, Larkin?"

"_They don't even know Chuck's missing_," Bryce elaborated. He was somewhere in Palm Springs, tracking another Fulcrum agent. _"It's __**not**__ Fulcrum. Someone else has him—someone that doesn't know about the Intersect, otherwise they would've utilized his knowledge by now—even just to test what the database knows."_

"Then who the hell would want him?"

"_Unlike you, Major Casey, Chuck is a loveable kind of guy. Maybe they kidnapped him because they liked his…hair?"_

Bryce didn't seem that worried. Sarah didn't know if he was just burying his emotions or if he had something good to tell them.

"What is it…?" Sarah breathed. "What else do you know?"

Bryce grinned.

Her heart began racing.

"_When the CIA contacted me, I sent a notice to a few colleagues of mine. One of them told me he spotted Chuck in Spain."_

Casey frowned, "What the hell is he doing in _Spain_? And why didn't your 'colleague' contact us earlier?"

"_He's not exactly a model citizen. Now—do you want the location or what?"_

"Yes," Sarah replied—a tad bit too quickly. Casey glanced at her cynically (questioning her composure) before he nodded.

"_He's in __Logroño,_ _42° 27´ N, 2° 29´ W. Have fun—I'll contact you as soon as I can."_

Sarah paused.

They had a location…down to the very geographical coordinates of the city. And better yet…

Chuck Bartowski was still alive.

-3-Chuck-3-

He wanted to die.

It always started the exact same way—the same migraine, the same fever, the same sense of dread…

All it took was one look—one _sound_—to trigger it. Whether it was a name, a place or some other random word, he knew everything there was to know about that one specific _thing_ instantly, and then he felt…enlightened. It was a revelation, the _key_ that broke the trance.

After these 'flashes' his memory would return. Nothing phenomenal—usually just bits and pieces of a life he never knew he existed. His memory was already scrambled as it was and these new recollections didn't fit anywhere in the puzzle. His name _wasn't_ Charles. It was…

Oh God…it _was_ Charles. In fact—

The guard looked at him curiously, studying his face for signs of recognition. Chuck sat very still in the chair by the window, enjoying the soothing sensation of a cool breeze on his face as he pretended to be normal. The fever that usually followed his flashes was a dead giveaway that he had seen something that triggered his memory. No one could tell what exactly brought upon these recollections, and Chuck was very careful never to tell them, but…

The man that just entered the room was a trained assassin. Chuck knew every little sin the man had committed and he couldn't help but feel nervous.

He needed someone…someone…Sarah…

Sarah?

…Yes! Sarah! She worked for the CIA and—

"What is it?" the guard asked from where he sat across the table from Chuck as the hired assassin took something from one of the drawers and wandered back outside the room. A steaming cup of coffee was set on the table in front of him, the morning paper in his hands. Chuck would be content to just leave him be…

"…Nothing," Chuck shook his head, sounding faint. He was always ill. Maybe the guard wouldn't notice the bit of perspiration on his brow, or the slight chill that ran through his body whenever the breeze brushed past his face.

He felt nauseous now.

Unfortunately for Chuck, the guard wasn't buying it. The bulky man looked as though he could crush a rock with one hand and Chuck didn't want to know what it felt like to be tackled by the brute if he made a daring break for the door. Maybe he could just pretend to fall asleep.

"Look at me," the thug ordered as he folded the paper and set it down on the table. He took a sip of his coffee before setting the cup down again, eyes still trained on Chuck. "I said—_look at me_."

And Chuck did.

The man rose to his feet.

Chuck followed suit—

—and grabbed the cup of coffee.

The guard had little time to react as Chuck threw its contents at the guard, burning his arm instead of his face as Chuck dropped the glass and dashed for the door. Down the hall was the entrance and—

In the hall there stood another guard, this one just as big (if not bigger) than the man cursing in Spanish behind Chuck.

"Hold him!" the first guard snapped. "We need the syringe."

No—he didn't want to forget everything now that he was just beginning to remember! He remembered Ellie and Morgan and Captain Awesome and Casey and—

The list was a long one, but Chuck didn't have the time to run through the whole thing as the second guard manhandled him out of the room and down the hall—in the opposite direction of the entrance. They were going to take him upstairs and then—

"Please!" Chuck pleaded, thrashing as best he could in the thug's arms. "Let me go! I don't know what you want with me—_please_!"

The man swore in Spanish as Chuck's heel connected with his shin. Chuck was still picking up bits and pieces of the language, but he could recognize a curse word when he heard it.

The thug shoved him harder down the hall, yelling out for help as Chuck nearly broke free. Another brute entered the hall and grabbed one of his arms as they reached the stairwell, forcing him up the first few steps before Chuck was able to knee one of the men in the chin.

In the end, it didn't matter. Soon they'd prick him again with that damn needle and he'd forget everything.

His hopes of ever escaping were beginning to dwindle. No one had come to save him in the last two weeks.

And no one was going to save him now.

Chuck Bartowski was a lost case.

A/N: If you're not entirely sure what's going on, that's okay. Everything will fall into place eventually.

What happened to Chuck? Well…


	4. Chapter 4

She lifted a hand to shield her eyes from the sun, staring up briefly to admire the great towering structure of the Concatedral de La Redonda. To her right, two suited men chatted quietly in Spanish as Casey, on her left, listened intently to a contact on his cellphone.

"Sarah Walker?"

The two agents turned slowly.

Sarah glanced sideways at Casey, noting the way his eyes narrowed slightly behind the shade of his sunglasses, before studying the tall Hispanic man before them. He was an older fellow, hair graying, but he looked as though time had been good to him. The kind of wrinkles forming around his eyes and mouth suggested that he had smiled often in his life, much like he was now…

"Burillo?" she asked as she offered her hand. He took it in a firm grip and gave it a friendly shake. "This is my partner, John Casey."

Burillo smiled amicably at the NSA agent, but Casey didn't offer his hand immediately. He nodded instead.

Undeterred by Casey's stiff behaviour, Burillo tipped the brim of his sunhat at the rigid agent before returning his attention to Sarah. "I suggest we continue our discussion elsewhere," he advised quietly as he glanced at the businessmen beside Sarah. They were really CIA agents, but Burillo didn't need to know that just yet. "My shop is not far from here…"

The 'shop' turned out to be a small café. The air was stuffy outside Burillo's establishment but it was cooler inside under the constant care of two large ceiling fans. A couple sat at one small table near the window of the shop while a group of three elderly women chatted loudly amongst themselves near the back, a young girl standing watch behind a counter of cakes and small sweets. Burillo waved to her before guiding Sarah and Casey up an old staircase set behind the counter, leading them into a private sitting room.

"Mr. Larkin and I haven't spoken to each other in many years, Miss Walker."

Following Burillo, Sarah took a seat at the sun table situated out on the balcony. Burillo sat down across from her but Casey remained standing.

"From what I was told, he sent a message to you concerning the whereabouts of a young man," she replied. "What exactly did Mr. Larkin say to you?"

The elderly gentleman leaned back in his chair, folding his hands over his stomach as he watched a cloud pass overhead. "Not much," he sighed, sounding weary. "He sent me a picture of this 'young man', along with a short message: _Find him_…That is all."

She was relieved that Bryce didn't elaborate on the situation. Chuck's name was still a secret.

"When did you last see him?" Casey asked; voice low and gruff.

"Ten days ago. I contacted Mr. Larkin as soon as he sent me the message."

"Where?"

"The airport." Mr. Burillo tipped his hat back into place as a gentle breeze brushed it sideways. "I went to meet with another contact there late that night—a man that works for Dr. Vizcaino—when I saw him stepping off a private plane. He was distraught…and restrained."

Sarah remained cool and collective in her composure, but deep inside…she couldn't help but hope he was still alive and well.

"And what about this Dr. Vizcaino?" Casey grilled. "Was he the one with the young man?"

"…Yes. It was him."

Her stomach flipped at the tone of Burillo's voice, knowing that the man had something awful to tell them. She didn't want to hear that Chuck was dead—didn't want to know some other unfortunate situation had befallen him.

"Do you know anything about Vizcaino, Mr. Casey?"

The NSA agent shook his head.

"Dr. Vizcaino worked for another man many years ago—a Mr. Santoro. Santoro promised to fund his bizarre research so long as it benefited him. Now, I admit that I know very little of science, Mr. Casey, but do I know Dr. Vizcaino had a strange fascination with the human mind…My daughter calls him a 'magician'."

Sarah Walker was familiar with the CIA's reports concerning Mr. Santoro…

"Why?"

"Why? Because Mr. Santoro could pick any man, woman or child on the face of this planet and have them under his thumb within a week. Mr. Santoro is known for abducting spies and soldiers, Mr. Casey, so that he could make them work for him. Dr. Vizcaino had a way of…'changing' a man's mind, so to speak…"

Santoro was dead now, but that didn't mean Dr. Vizcaino had to drop everything. He was a rich man—rich enough to fund his own research.

But why _Chuck_? Unless Vizcaino knew something about the Intersect, Sarah couldn't think of a single reason why he would want to abduct him…but then…

Chuck had been waiting inside Sarah's car. What if Vizcaino had been planning to take either her or Casey? If he thought Chuck was a spy…

"Where does Dr. Vizcaino live now?" Sarah asked suddenly, surprising both Burillo and Casey as she returned from her brief reverie.

"Where else?" Burillo laughed. "His mansion. And in the basement, Miss Walker, is a very unfortunate young man…"

Not for long, though…


End file.
